London Eve
by Are Are
Summary: Fluffy first-time fic, one-shot. Thomas and Jimmy argue and make amends in wintry London. This was written for the wonderful Shadegarden, for her donation to the Downton Charity Drive.


Thomas Barrow, alone, traversed the chilled and darkened streets of London. Under the onslaught of night, clouds hung in fat, invariable blankets, dripping occasional and frigid rain. Thomas was made into a cloud himself- going, as he had, without an umbrella. Thomas's shoulders were beaded with water, and every few moments droplets would cascade from the brim of his hat, a flurry of jewels- but he did not flag down any passing taxis. He needed to walk.

Elizabeth Street was done up in a grand style- but to Thomas it did not seem like the world was mere days away from Christmas- the soggy ornaments and the bleary faces of the passerby served only to further his melancholy mood. He had started out his half-day irked and ended it maudlin. In his mouth Thomas could still taste crème de menthe- from the lips of the man he had been kissing- but that did little to improve his spirits.

_Can't go on like this forever_, Thomas thought. It was an ominous refrain, one that had plagued him on and off, through a dizzying sweep of seasons and years- and today it came because of Jimmy. Sometimes it came because of Jimmy. More and more, lately. That morning they had argued- and Thomas couldn't _help_ it, they were dear friends, and everything, and a little disagreement between friends was typical- but it wounded Thomas, all the same. Even if it were Thomas himself who had been the disagreeable party.

Once Thomas had said that very thing, to Jimmy- not the _whole_ thing- but he had called the pair of them 'dear friends', on an alcohol-soaked evening off- and Jimmy had laughed, and jostled him, crinkling his eyes up in merriment. "Not _dear_ friends," Jimmy had said, with a sincerity that he reserved for Thomas alone- "_only_ friends. You're my only friend and I'm yours."

"You're not my _only_ friend," Thomas had said, with a superior affect- and Jimmy had smiled, and rested his arm on Thomas's shoulder- until Thomas went rigid at the discomfort of Jimmy's proximity, and Jimmy moved himself away.

Their friendship had rules- unspoken, but carefully established over a little clutch of years- and these rules they both steadfastly attempted to uphold. The first rule was more of a mutual practice- they did everything together in their spare time, betrayed one another to no outside party, and made eachother privy to all secret plans and intrigues. The second rule was that they never spoke of the time _before_, when Thomas had made advances upon Jimmy's person and Jimmy had made his displeasure well known- an addendum to this rule being that they never discussed Thomas's ongoing- _years_ ongoing- feelings towards Jimmy in any depth. Or alluded to those feelings. Or anything. If the first mandate of their friendship was for the benefit of both parties, and the second rule was for Jimmy's intellectual comfort- well, then, the third rule had been silently set into place by Thomas. Rule Three- was that Jimmy refrain from being overly sweet, or dear- as Jimmy, unlikely though it seemed, was wont to do.

It warmed Thomas's heart to think of it- how Jimmy Kent, such a prickly sort, so difficult to know, could be so tenderhearted towards those few persons who had won his loyalty. Even without the same attitude of romantic love that burned away at Thomas, Jimmy was kind- sometimes kind- or generous with his things, when it came to his best mate. These flashes of warmth came from Jimmy without seeming provocation- often when he was drinking- or when they were shut up in a room during the quiet nights, whispering over cards or magazines.

"Let me give you a song, one you like," Jimmy would say, with a suddenly soft expression- and play an invisible set of piano keys on the edge on Thomas's bed. Or he would bring Thomas silly trinkets, things he had found. A broken pocketwatch for Thomas to repair and keep, a mug that had been given away free at the cinema- a dozen things like that, over the past year. Or, if Jimmy was very unguarded- he would touch Thomas: on the hand- or the arms- and once, in a measure Thomas thought he would not soon repeat- on Thomas's pomaded hair. Thomas would have taken gifts and accolades forever- and especially from Jimmy- but the touching was too much. It was one thing to have to _look_ at Jimmy each and every day, and another to know Jimmy's mind so well- when each year only revealed to Thomas more eloquently that Jimmy's temperament was the perfect compliment to his own. These aspects of life were distracting enough without Jimmy deigning to _touch_ him, no matter how friendly the intent might be. Thus, the third rule had come into existence. As with the other rules, Jimmy and Thomas hadn't ever spoken about it- but Thomas had frowned or flinched away upon each instance of Jimmy being overly familiar. Eventually Jimmy caught on- and now, if he made the mistake of laying a hand on Thomas, in camaraderie- he would seem to check himself, and place some distance between their persons. _Always forgetting I am the way I am,_ Thomas thought, in frustration.

It was a battle months old- but today everything about Jimmy Kent drove Thomas further into his dark mood. It was all Jimmy's fault, really. Everything was. _Everything is Jimmy's fault,_ Thomas thought, mustering every bit of resentment that he could find within himself- but the resentment would not hold for Jimmy as it did for other people- it broke apart, and Thomas was left scowling into the dreary street.

_You have to admit, you broke Rule Number One_, Thomas reminded himself, as he crossed the street, neatly avoiding dipping his shoe into a puddle. _You refused to go out with him on your half-day, even though he wanted to see that stupid picture, and you refused to tell him why._

I shouldn't _have_ to tell him why, Thomas thought, deliberately. _I have every right to use my free time as I please. _It was true, he was a grown man, and why should he have to answer to anybody? For anything at all?

The fight had started innocuously- Thomas had been in an unseasonable mood, that morning- but he hadn't taken it out on Jimmy, only on Baxter and Bates and everybody else- and even then, he had been somewhat restrained. Until Jimmy had pressed him so about going to the cinema. And then-

_"But it _is_ my right!" _Jimmy had said, his face twisted in unhappiness. _"Thomas!"_

Jimmy had tried to grab his shoulder, as Thomas had left. Thomas remembered that, from hours before- and his skin tingled, as if Jimmy had only just touched him.

Thomas came to Eaton Square, and took a right. This winter was unusual: the family and staff had been packed up, hearth to parcels, and moved to London for the season. It had been more than a year since Lady Mary and '_Mr.'_ Branson had persuaded Lord Grantham to begin farming the land in earnest- Thomas had heard, from gossip, that it had been their influence. After a while it appeared as if the estate was turning a profit- they had acquired a larger staff, when it seemed that every other place could no longer afford to keep servants- and Thomas had felt his nagging worries about job security eased somewhat.

Then, in late fall, it had been announced that Downton would be undergoing renovations- for the plumbing, for electricity to be integrated into all of the rooms that were underused and had been passed over on the first go-round, for a myriad of things- and the people who inhabited the place had been shipped off, with nary a backwards look. Thomas didn't know for sure whose grand plan the modernization had been- but he knew it wasn't Lord Grantham's. The staff was a-tremble with the excitement of a winter in London, the family pleased- but Lord Grantham had worn a face sour as grapes during the whole journey, and said he hoped to find 'his home still standing' upon their return.

The Crawley family was renting a place called Wollow House, which was very old and belonged to somebody who was near-neighbors with Lady Rosamund Painswick. Thomas, walking along Eaton Square, saw decorative candles flickering in many windows- and he slowed, though the air was cold, and watched the flames twirl in invisible drafts, for a long moment. The golden tongues of the candles, each to each, reminded him of the gold in Jimmy's hair, when it caught the low lamplight. Thomas stood for so many minutes that he saw a maid pull back the curtains, come to extinguish the pretty candle-flames in the late hour- and then he walked on, lest she glimpse him.

London in the wreath-and-holly season may have worked its particular charms upon everybody else- but Thomas, who'd planned to use one of his evenings off to explore the lovely depravities available in city living, had not been given half a chance. Jimmy had acted like a happy tourist, tugging Thomas along at every spare moment to the cinema or the clubs- though not exactly the clubs that Thomas would have chosen. Lots of dancing, though. They had danced through the night at a place called the The Oval, with a set of sisters who had seemed all too keen to let themselves be courted- until Jimmy caught Thomas's eye and they had slipped free of their dancing partners, and struck off into the night. "Why'd you want to leave?" Thomas had said, as they had escaped the heat and noise of the club for the streets. "That girl fancied you, anyone could see."

"I wanted to go somewhere else," Jimmy had said, vaguely- and he'd given Thomas a grin that was more than half-touched with intoxication. One night they had taken a late meal together at a gentleman's club, Jimmy insisting all the while that he would pay. "I can _afford _it, why d'ya keep sayin' I can't _afford_ it?" Jimmy had said, bumping his fist in a loose emphasis against the tabletop.

_Because I want to pay for you, and pretend you're mine,_ Thomas had thought, wistfully. Those thoughts were the sort best avoided- and they grew more and more frequent, with every day and hour that Thomas spent in Jimmy's company. That was why he had wanted- no, he had _needed_- he had needed to go out for an evening on his own.

"I thought we could go to the pictures tonight," Jimmy had said, after luncheon had been served. He had caught Thomas dressing-down the new maid for her clumsiness in all matters- she _was_ clumsy, even if Thomas's sour temper had led him to be a bit unforgiving that day. "Unless you wanted to spend the day berating poor Laura," Jimmy had added, as the maid beat a hasty retreat.

"Poor Laura is a ninny," Thomas answered, more harshly than he had intended.

"Probably. We could see _He Who Gets Slapped,_" Jimmy suggested, in a casual tone that hardly obscured his excitement. "It's s'posed to be good," Jimmy added, rocking back and forth minutely. "You're ready, but give us a moment to get dressed and we'll-"

"You go. I have other plans," Thomas said, shortly. It hurt to say no to Jimmy- and Thomas had not managed it once, not for the entire month that they had been there. Each week he had planned out an elaborate excuse- and then Jimmy would come to him, expecting that they would take on the town together- and the excuse would die upon Thomas's lips. _Not today,_ Thomas had told himself, firmly. He did not even _have_ a planned excuse today.

"Oh," Jimmy said, looking a bit off-kilter. "Well. That isn't any trouble, right? We'll just do _your_ plans. I'll go get my suit-"

"No. I have plans by myself," Thomas said, gritting his teeth. Thomas's expression must have been terse- because Jimmy blinked rapidly- and took a step forward, coming so close that he was in danger of violating Rule Three.

"Y'don't need to coddle me," Jimmy said, looking at the floor- and then suddenly upwards, startling Thomas with the intensity of his fixed gaze. "Whatever it is you're doin'... I- I can _handle_ it. Or wherever you want t'go. I don't care-"

Jimmy's jaw was set in a terse line, and Thomas could plainly see that he was screwing up his courage for something- for _what_? To go to the sort of places Thomas wanted to frequent? It was pitiable, it was too much- it was damned infuriating, in fact- and Thomas said, as coolly as he could: "But I haven't invited you."

"Wh- what?" Jimmy said, in a small voice. "But I-" Jimmy then flagrantly violated Rule Three- he reached out, gripping onto Thomas's wrist. "Why're you so put-out?" Jimmy asked, his low voice coming out rough, though Thomas could see that Jimmy was trying to speak delicately. Thomas shook off Jimmy's hand- and Jimmy's eyes crinkled up- not in happiness- but like he had been wounded.

"Because you take up my every spare hour," Thomas said, allowing himself to, well- if he was going to say his mind he was going to bloody _say_ it, wasn't he? "Having a grand time," Thomas went on. "Makin' me your little date. I know you bask in adoration with the very best of them-"

Jimmy took a faltering step backwards. His lips had gone white- but Thomas pressed on, lest he feel cruel, and regret himself.

"If you're so desperate for company, Jimmy, why not get yourself a nice village girl, like you said you would, ages ago? Or a nice _city_ girl, we're here now, an' you can pay for _her_ dinner-"

"I never said I- _you_ said that-" Jimmy protested, hotly. The shock had drained from Jimmy's face- and now he looked- as if he were ready to fight. "Now-uh- y-you listen to me- I don't know who's let hornets loose in _your_ apron, but-"

Jimmy bit his lip, silencing himself, as they heard footsteps on the landing- and then Baxter appeared, with a length of cloth. Baxter was actually Mrs. _Molesley_ now, which was so stupid that Thomas couldn't even bear to think of it. "Good afternoon," she said, looking at both of them- Thomas could see that she knew she'd interrupted something.

"Good morning," Jimmy had answered, in an unsteady voice. "Ah. I mean afternoon. G-good afternoon."

"I didn't get a chance yet to wish you many happy returns, Mr. Barrow," Baxter said. Thomas itched to simply push her out of the door and into another room. How had she remembered-

"Hasn't Mr. Barrow told you that it's his birthday?" Baxter inquired, looking at Jimmy's pallid countenance. "He'll be- what age have you, Thomas, thirty-five? I suppose you two have big plans for your half-day-"

"Can you move along? We're trying to discuss something," Jimmy said, so rudely that Thomas almost grinned at him. But no- they were having a disagreement.

"Far be it for me to interrupt a lover's quarrel," Baxter said, in that flat, irritatingly benign way she had about her sometimes. At her words Jimmy flushed pink- and, before either of them could form a retort, she had swept away.

"It's your birthday?" Jimmy said, quietly, when they were alone- and Thomas felt his shoulders tense. "Is that why you're in such a poor temper?"

"No," Thomas said. His answer sounded feeble in his own ears, so he added to it. "I just want to spend a night on me own, for a change, instead of always with you-"

"Stop saying that," Jimmy said, taking a deliberate step closer to Thomas. Jimmy's face was- soft, or something- and Thomas didn't want to _look_ at him-

"Stop," Jimmy repeated. His hand went back to Thomas's wrist. "It's my-uh- lawful right to give you a lovely evening, and- and I don't even know what we're arguing for-"

"It isn't _your _right to give me _anything_," Thomas spat, feeling his lips curl into an unpleasant expression. He shook off Jimmy's grip again, and brushed at some imaginary disarray of his coat, wondering why his hands trembled, and why his heart thundered in his ears. "So arse off," Thomas added- and he pushed past Jimmy, heading for the stairs at a clip.

"But it _is_ my right!" Jimmy had said, making to grab Thomas's shoulder- and Thomas, foolishly looking back, had seen that Jimmy's face was screwed up into a look of misery. "_Thomas!_" Jimmy said- but Thomas had only walked faster, until he was out of Wollow House, and then he strode briskly away from Eaton Square, lest Jimmy pursue him.

_So much melodrama over a half-day, it makes me sick,_ Thomas thought now, under the shroud of darkness that clutched at London. Truly it did make him feel ill- his stomach had turned unpleasantly after he'd fought with Jimmy, and the feeling had followed Thomas through the rest of the day and into these depths of night.

He hadn't ever been _unkind_ to Jimmy before. Not ever, not once. Maybe that was why Jimmy had looked so struck with surprise- and, even when he was trying to be nasty, Thomas had still failed to be convincing. Thomas had lacked all of the venom he could typically conjure up at will- it was Jimmy- he pulled Thomas _out_ of it some how, so that his once-precise words sounded only petty, or maudlin.

He'd gone from the house to a club called the Crimson Fir- which was near the Oval, where he and Jimmy had gone dancing with the eager sisters- but the Crimson Fir was as different from the Oval as night from day. Under low ceilings, where men in rouge and women in handsome suits danced and smoked, Thomas sat at the bar, drinking more than he should, and looking for someone blond. Anyone blond would do, if the room was poorly lit. But it was a sloe-eyed man with an unruly mop of dark hair who slid into the seat beside Thomas.

"Gerry, make me a Stinger with more crème and less cognac," the man said to the bartender- and then he looked Thomas up and down, with an appraising expression. "Can I get you another of that?"

Thomas looked over to the dark-haired man- who offered an easy smile, and stuck out his hand.

"Fred," the man offered. "You look to be all by your lonesome."

"Thomas," Thomas said, taking Fred's offered hand. "I'll take another whiskey."

"Mmm, a man who doesn't fool around," Fred said, with a laugh. "Gerry, get my handsome friend a whiskey, will you? I need all the help I can get, he seems like a tough customer."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "_I_ seem like a tough customer?" _Not very, Fred. _

"Well, now, that depends on how you look at things," Fred said, receiving his drink. Thomas pulled a cigarette- he had been smoking them end-to-end since his disagreement with Jimmy- from his pocket, and lit it. Gerry the bartender gave Thomas a fresh drink.

"I mean, you let me buy you a drink, so that's not so bad," Fred said, inclining his legs towards Thomas. Thomas noticed that Fred had a large sprig of holly pinned to his suitjacket. It made a garish ornament, but the man managed to carry it off. "But your eyes are far away. _That's_ tough."

"How can you properly say that somebody's eyes are _'far away'_?" Thomas asked, with a snort- and Fred grinned at him. "Sounds a bit soppy, to be honest," Thomas added- and he winced- he had inadvertently parroted one of Jimmy's favorite phrases to a stranger. It felt like an odd betrayal- especially since this last year Jimmy had been _so_-

So nothing_._ Thomas pushed the guilt back, as firmly as he could. Jimmy wouldn't have agonized over Thomas before he kissed some... some pretty girl- and Thomas refused to be the foolish party.

"Oh, I'm good at reading people," Fred replied, with a sly wink. "I can see plain as day that you're here to forget about someone."

"That's an easy guess, if I came alone," Thomas said, smiling back at him. The expression felt a touch forced, but Thomas managed it.

The pianist sang a melancholy song, and Fred hummed along to it, tapping his fingers on the lacquered surface of the bar. "_My sweetie went away, but he didn't say where, he didn't say when, he didn't say why-"_ Fred intoned, with a laugh in his voice. "_Without biddin' me goodbye- oh, I'm as blue as can be-"_

"Very nice," Thomas said, amused.

"Yes," Fred said, downing the rest of his cocktail. "Give us a drag of that fag, will you?" He asked, wrapping his fingers around Thomas's cigarette hand- and Thomas tensed- it was something Jimmy often asked him. Funny how such a thing- that spoke of the intimacy of friendship- could speak to intimacy of another sort, when it was someone else doing the asking.

"You'll have to give me a proper sendoff, sad eyes or no," Fred said. Thomas gave him a cigarette of his very own. He felt a strange reluctance to share with a stranger the way he deuced with Jimmy. "I'm leaving London on the morrow," Fred said, by way of explanation. "To go valet for a rich and tragically widowed Duke, at his country house. I'm not making this up, it's all true! I've never met him, but he was _much_ younger than his wife, so they say. He can't keep valets, supposedly. I feel a bit as if I'm walking into _Jane Eyre_-"

Thomas laughed aloud, and Fred laughed with him, seemingly charmed by his own humor. "I do hope it goes better for you than that," Thomas allowed- and Fred put a hand on his arm.

"I'm in service, too," Thomas said, ignoring the other man's touch, until Fred gripped his arm more firmly. "Oh, I could tell from across the room you were," Fred said.

"Right, with your spectacular adeptness at reading people," Thomas said, flexing his gloved hand. His cigarette was nothing, now, and he snuffed it out in an ashtray.

"Nah, it was your posture," Fred put back, cheerily. "When people seem unhappy, but still they hold themselves up right straight- that's someone in service."

The sentiment struck Thomas as sad- so sad that his throat felt tight- and he couldn't place exactly why. "There has to be a more private room than this," Thomas said, evenly- and he set down his drink, meeting Fred's eyes.

"Quite right," Fred said, cheekily, and he set his drink down, as well. "Did you hear that, Gerry? My considerable charms have worked!"

"How wonderful for you," the bartender said, dryly, and Fred clasped Thomas by the hand, and led him away.

In a back room that looked like it was for staff only, Fred leaned up against a wall, kissing Thomas with his eyes disconcertingly open. The sprig of holly pinned to Fred's lapel had been pushed flat between their chests. Thomas concentrated on the feeling of Fred's body in his arms, trying not to think of anything else.

"Mmm. You have a first-class mouth," Fred murmured, angling back, a bit.

"And a working-class background," Thomas put back- Jimmy would have laughed at his wit- but Fred only studied him.

"Your bloke... the one you're so cut-up over... is he still alive?" Fred asked, his brow furrowing.

"What?" Thomas said, blinking at the non-sequitur. "Oh. Yes, of course he is. He's perfectly alive." _I was arguing with him only a few hours ago_.

"You should be with him," Fred said, pulling Thomas closer, in an embrace. "You taste even more of regret than y'do of whiskey."

"Oh, but he isn't-" Thomas began- and then he shook his head. Here he was, talking about Jimmy. The prospect of love was... appealing- but in his head Thomas involuntarily pictured Jimmy, going to the cinema alone.

"Even if he _isn't_," Fred added- "-still you should be with him." For a moment he squeezed Thomas very tightly- and laid a more chaste kiss upon the corner of Thomas's mouth. But then he stepped away, running a hand over his unruly hair.

"Trust me, Thomas," Fred said. "Life is short... and whatever compensation it gives may be withdrawn. Take it from a chap who's had to crawl the bottom of the tins, once or twice. Love is the luckiest thing there is."

Fred was standing back, and offering Thomas a smile of co-conspiracy, as if they were old friends. "I can walk you home, if you're too tight to manage it," Fred said.

_Thank you, Jimmy, you're even ruining my prospects when you're _not_ here,_ Thomas thought, with annoyance... but Fred was right. He wanted to go home.

"No. You enjoy your last night in London. I'll get a taxi," Thomas lied. "But thank you," he added, with all the sincerity he could manage. "You're an odd one, has anybody ever told you that?"

"I know, I know!" Fred answered, leading Thomas back into the club proper. "I ought to be in pictures!"

So Thomas's evening had not gone even remotely as he had hoped- and now it was after midnight, as he approached Wollow House, in the chilled rain. The lights were out- everyone had gone to bed- and Jimmy was probably not yet returned from the pictures. He liked to stay for double features. _I'll apologize to him first thing tomorrow,_ Thomas promised himself- and took his weary bones up the stairs.

Wollow House was unusually old and unusually odd- some eccentric owner had converted the attic into a conservatory, and so the servant's quarters were all underneath or beside the house. All except for one- the main chimney formed a wide wall, cutting off the far end of the house from the family domain. There was a rickety stair going up from the back of the kitchens, and, at the top, a single attic room, one bed, with a sloping ceiling that gave the whole space a look as if it were being pulled from the top. It had been a room for a butler, over the years- or sometimes a governess- but Mr. Carson had insisted on staying with the men, to make sure there were no 'goings-on'- and the children were too young to have a governess yet. So Thomas- and his proclivities- had been given the far-flung attic room. Jimmy thought it dreadfully funny, and made loads of comments about Thomas being the little princess in the attic- after the children's story- but, in truth, Thomas liked the room. It made it all the easier for the two of them to stay up till all hours, playing cards, and spending time.

But tonight the stairs seemed unwelcoming, and the prospect of the room lonely, as Thomas went up. His hat was still dripping rain, and in the warmer air of the house he felt how cold the outside had been. He wondered if Jimmy was having a nice time, out on the town, or if he was similarly discomfited. Perhaps tomorrow Thomas would tell him a- greatly amended- tale of getting turned down by the fellow at the club because of his 'sad eyes'. _Probably I won't_, Thomas told himself, coming to the door at the top of the stairs. _I don't think he'd like to hear about such deviant practices-_

Thomas stopped short as he pushed the door open. Jimmy was in his room, sitting in the chair by the bed, with a cigarette in his hand and a book on his lap. He was dressed in his going-out suit.

"Ah. Hello," Thomas said, halting awkwardly in the door. Jimmy rose to his feet, as Thomas entered, and looked him over.

_Better say it now_, Thomas counseled himself. Jimmy must have been very upset by Thomas's earlier attitude, to be waiting for him- and not in the servant's hall, either, but in his _room_-

"Look, I'm sorry for before-" Thomas began, but Jimmy took two steps closer- and lifted Thomas's damp hat from his head.

"You're in late," Jimmy said, in a quiet voice that cut through Thomas's apology. Thomas noted, vaguely, that Jimmy's hands were shaking- and a flurry of ashes fell from the cigarette clamped between the fingers of his left hand, dotting the carpet.

"Not so late," Thomas said, dragging out the '_so_' more than was strictly necessary.

"And you're drunk," Jimmy said, in the same neutral tone.

"No, I'm not," Thomas replied. He really _wasn't_- he had only had... a _few_ drinks-

"You smell of whiskey and somebody else's aftershave," Jimmy said, flatly- and Thomas wondered why he felt his face get hot- as if he had been caught at something.

"I thought I'd try a new brand of aftershave," Thomas said, lightly. Jimmy was once again in danger of violating Rule Three- he was profoundly invading Thomas's space.

"Well it _stinks_," Jimmy said, suddenly harsh- and he took a step backwards, slumping into the desk chair.

"Look- ah- Jimmy," Thomas began. He felt odd standing while Jimmy sat, so he sat himself, on the edge of the bed, looping an arm around a portion of the old brass frame of it. "I'm sorry I was- so awful, earlier- an' doubly sorry that I didn't go to the pictures with you-"

"You should be! You went out and broke the first _law_!" Jimmy snapped, his eyes flashing like polished stones- and he glared at Thomas, with his lips parted.

"What?" Thomas asked, nonplussed. "I didn't get a chance to break any laws, I don't think. What d'ya mean?"

"I'll tell you _if_ you tell me why you were so angry, earlier," Jimmy said, vehemently. "Is it your birthday? Turning thirty... thirty-five, is that it?"

"T'was thirty-_four_," Thomas corrected. "Don't listen to Baxter, she's an idiot."

"That's all? You're a young man yet, I don't know what you're up in arms over," Jimmy said, looking down at his shoes with a scowl.

"I know I am. That's what I was thinkin' about," Thomas said. He hadn't meant to be confiding- only to apologize to Jimmy and get him out, so that he could sleep- but the words came tumbling into the world of their own accord. "My father... he was only thirty-four when he died," Thomas said, looking behind Jimmy, to the rough-hewn rafters. "It wasn't very long to live. Soon I'll be older than ever he was. B-but... but in some ways he had a lot more than I do. He and my mother were a pair, always actin' like they were still just steppin' off the altar-"

"Aren't you happy with your life?" Jimmy asked. Jimmy's tone seemed overly demanding, to Thomas- and his brow was creased. "Don't you feel like you have anything worthwhile?" Jimmy pressed.

"Some things," Thomas said, waving a hand back and forth with jerky movements. "Not- I mean, there're things I want that I don't have, y'know- and _can't_ have, maybe. Anyway. What _law_ are you on about?"

"The first law," Jimmy said. His forehead was still furrowed. "You know, the three laws we have but don't speak of. You _know_ what I mean, Thomas-"

"The... the rules?" Thomas asked, in surprise. That had been a way to _think_ of it, for him- an abstraction. Not an official document, or something.

"From this past year or so," Jimmy said. "Y'know... the _third_ law is that I don't touch you, so that you're aren't overcome by desire-"

"What?" Thomas said, but Jimmy kept speaking, saying the words in a rush- "The second law is that we never talk about when I tried to get you fired- which I very much appreciate it, I _hate_ talking about that-"

"Um. How did you-"

"An' the _first_ law is that we do everythin' together, and romance no other party, until I'm ready to... uh-" Now Jimmy seemed to run out of momentum- he exhaled in a shaky swoop, and put out his cigarette. "You know," Jimmy said, in a thread-thin voice. "Until I'm ready for the other stuff. The _laws_. We _made_ them."

"These are not the laws I am familiar with," Thomas said, reduced to formality in his utter shock. There was a ringing in his head- or in the room- Thomas could not tell which. His voice sounded brittle in his own ears.

"You- well, I don't care _what_ you thought, you broke them anyhow," Jimmy said. "And poor stupid soppy me, sittin' up here. Feelin' heartsick. I wouldn't have said _no_ if you wanted to go to your powder-puff and _lavender_ club, would I? I said I'd go with you-"

"But... I don't see-" Thomas trailed off, looking at the intensity with which Jimmy was comporting himself. Jimmy held his body like a tightly coiled spring. "Perhaps," Thomas said, aiming for lightness, "You don't understand exactly what I went out _for_-"

"I imagine it was to find a _one-off_," Jimmy shot back, making an awful face. "Right? Yes?"

Thomas was blushing again- he could tell- or maybe he was only hot from the whiskey. "I'm sorry," Thomas said again, confused about why, exactly, he was apologizing. "I know you really wanted me to see that Lon Chaney picture-"

"I _wanted_ you to keep your hands off anybody else!" Jimmy said. "No _romancing_, that's the bloody law-"

"Now wait," Thomas said, holding up a hand in his own defense. _What in the name of God are we fightin' about _this _time?_ Thomas wondered. "Firstly," Thomas said, ticking off points on his fingers, "I did _not_ have any one-off with _anybody_. Secondly- why d'ya care? Thirdly-"

"Don't be an idiot, of course I care," Jimmy said, in a tone that was almost a growl- and he cracked the knuckles of both his hands.

"_Thirdly_," Thomas interjected- "You _romance_ people all the time! That girl at the club- the sister of the other sister- _you_ know- and Ivy-"

"I didn't _romance_ that girl, I just wanted to go out dancing," Jimmy said. "With _you_. I like dancing. And Ivy was forever ago, that was _before_-"

"Right, before you were called up to the mount to get the Three Commandments?" Thomas asked, with an edge to his tone- and then, to his astonishment, Jimmy stopped speaking- and slumped backwards, putting his hands to his own face.

"If you really didn't know," Jimmy said, through his hands, "-aren't you happy about this, you bleedin' arse?"

"Happy about _what_," Thomas began- and then his addled brain leaped forward, and caught up with the conversation. For a moment Thomas collected his thoughts- and when he looked up again, Jimmy was staring at him. The silence in the little room seemed very profound. Rain spattered against the house- Thomas heard the lash of wind, in the night- but he could not break eye contact with Jimmy.

"You- you," Thomas said- and Jimmy shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Yeah, me," Jimmy allowed, tugging on the collar of his shirt.

Thomas rose slowly from the bed, on legs that suddenly seemed as if they could not begin to bear his weight- and took the three shaky steps to where Jimmy sat. "What did you say? Until you're ready to...?" Thomas asked, in an undertone- and Jimmy leaned forward without warning, and wrapped his arms firmly about Thomas's hips, pressing his face to the side of Thomas's abdomen.

"Uhh. Yes," Jimmy said, into Thomas's coat- and Thomas felt the line of Jimmy's arms, and the warmth of his cheek- and he stood rooted to the spot.

"I-" Thomas stared down, at the top of Jimmy's head, and at the line of his back- and, wonderingly, he carded a hand through Jimmy's hair. "Really?" Thomas asked- and Jimmy held his arms more closely around Thomas, for an instant- before releasing his grasp, and looking up, red-faced.

"R-really," Jimmy affirmed- and he got unsteadily to his feet. When he was standing, his titled his chin up, and fixed his eyes upon Thomas. "I didn't know y'were in such dire straits," Jimmy said- his mouth curling half into a smile. "You might've said- before you went out and broke the Law."

"Said-"

"Said you needed me in your _bed_," Jimmy replied. "I was nervous about it. Kept puttin' it off 'til later-"

Jimmy's voice was even enough, and his expression composed- but Thomas could see that Jimmy had a fine tremor working through him. "Are you going to kiss me, now?" Jimmy asked, gritting his teeth. "-'cause I can't take much more of this-"

"Ah- I don't know if-" Thomas started- but Jimmy slung his arms around Thomas's neck- and pressed a clumsy kiss to his mouth- and then another to his cheek- and Thomas's heart skipped a beat. His skin tingled where Jimmy's lips had been- and Jimmy put his head to Thomas's coat.

"Don't look at me, I'm so bloody embarrassed," Jimmy said, into Thomas's lapel. "Don't say anything smug. Just get on the bed." Jimmy shoved lightly at Thomas's chest- and Thomas took a backwards step, under the directive of Jimmy's hands.

There had been a knot in Thomas's chest for- oh, ages- wound very tight, and fastened with the grim refrain that sometimes haunted him: _Can't go on like this forever._ The knot felt looser, now, as if it were coming undone- and Jimmy pushed at Thomas again, until he sat back on the bed.

"You had better be sweet, and kind, and so good to me I can't _believe_ it, or I'll have your bollocks for braces," Jimmy said. His threats would have been more convincing, Thomas thought, if Jimmy had not seemed so totally uncomposed- it took him three tries to get his right shoe off- and finally he flung the pair across the room, and sat on the bed between Thomas's ankles, attempting to take off Thomas's shoes as well. For a moment Thomas simply watched him struggle, trying to process the sequence of events that had led him to this- and then he noticed Jimmy's trembling hands- and sat up. "I'll do that," Thomas said, divesting himself of shoes and coat- and he put a hand to Jimmy's cheek. Jimmy's skin felt too-heated to the touch- and he swallowed audibly when Thomas cupped his face.

"Are you- are you only doing this because you don't want me to- to pay attention to anybody else?" Thomas asked- and Jimmy nodded, immediately. "Of course I am," Jimmy said, trying to unbutton Thomas's shirt. "I can't even bear the thought. I could kill whatever mincing- uh- _blossom _you made yourself a lover to, tonight-"

"I didn't make myself anybody's lover," Thomas said. "I told you so. I got turned down because I was too distracted. Over you. But- Jimmy, I won't _force_ you-"

"I'm also doing it because my- my body won't leave my mind alone, for want of you," Jimmy said, over Thomas's protests. He had undone Thomas's shirt to mid-breastbone- where his vest began- and he ran his fingers through the hair on Thomas's chest, grazing his skin. "It's strange- the things you end up wanting-" Jimmy said, with a glazed expression, as he touched Thomas's skin.

"Very," Thomas said- and he dragged Jimmy up by his forearms, and kissed his perfectly-moulded mouth. _There_ was the thing that had so badly-colored Thomas's moods- the wanting of a kiss like this, and another-

"Nn. _God,_" Jimmy said, pulling away- and he pushed Thomas down, so that he lay flat against the mattress. Behind Jimmy the brass bedframe rose up- a rickety fortress- and Jimmy kicked it, accidentally, as he carefully lowered himself down. There was a sound like thunder in Thomas's ears- but it was only his pulse. Jimmy moved by slow increments, until he was lying completely atop Thomas, still dressed- and Thomas held still. Jimmy seemed to be trying to catch his breath.

"Take this off, at least," Thomas said- and he stroked his thumb against Jimmy's cheek- and then tugged at his jacket.

"You take yours off," Jimmy whispered.

"You're laying on me," Thomas pointed out- and Jimmy nodded, and sat upright again- so that he was straddling Thomas's hips. "Ahh," Jimmy hissed, when he sat up- and he rolled his hips, once, against Thomas.

"_Hh_- alright-" Thomas said- and Jimmy tossed his jacket behind himself without looking- it landed neatly on the brass bedpost, a minor miracle. Thomas tried to prop himself up on his elbows, to get similarly undressed- but Jimmy shook his head, and bent forward. "Leave it," Jimmy said, in a thick voice- and he pushed open Thomas's suitjacket- and undid the buttons of the vest, and then the shirt underneath, squinting in concentration. Thomas felt the air hit his skin- and then Jimmy's hands were on him, sending shivers of sensation through him in lines.

"I am so bloody nervous," Jimmy said, in a voice that held almost no inflection- and Thomas pulled Jimmy down, and kissed him. He rubbed his hands- good and bad- in circles over Jimmy's lower back- and then untucked Jimmy's shirt- and put his fingers under it, to touch Jimmy's bare skin.

Jimmy made a wordless sound when Thomas touched him. His palms had been flat against Thomas's chest- but he braced himself up, a little- and rolled his hips against Thomas again.

"Hnn- that's- _ah_, there," Jimmy said, closing his eyes. He moved back and forth with rocking motions, and Thomas arched his body against Jimmy, in a counterpoint. "Yes," Thomas said, getting a grip on Jimmy's hips, and bearing up more firmly- and Jimmy let out a low moan. The sound went directly to Thomas's cock, as if it had traveled there from his ears without stopping in his brain- and he pulled Jimmy down, and kissed him again, as thoroughly as he could. "I need more of- of this," Jimmy muttered- and he moved his hips again, thrusting against Thomas. They were both still in their trousers- Jimmy was near-to fully dressed- but his face spoke of unbearably intense pleasure. The hairs on Thomas's arms were standing up- but he could scarcely feel anything else save for the friction of Jimmy pushing against his erection- and the heavy emotion in his chest, so tangled up with desire that he could not make ends of it. Jimmy's eyes were still closed, his face a mask of lust. "_Ah_, g-god, _ah_ god-" Jimmy muttered, as he rocked forward. Thomas gripped Jimmy's hips more firmly, stilling him- and Jimmy took a shuddering breath.

"You don't need to keep your eyes closed," Thomas said, laughing shakily.

"Yes, I do," Jimmy said, with his eyes still shut. Thomas could see Jimmy's jaw working, even as he managed to hold himself still. Thomas pressed- ever so slightly- upwards- and Jimmy hissed, letting out air through trembling lips.

"_Ah_. Shite," Jimmy said. "I really do. Have you got any- ah- _any _idea what you- what you _look _like? I'm trying to l-_last_, me-"

"You don't need to _last_," Thomas said- and he rubbed his fingers over the taut line of Jimmy's temples.

"Yes. Don't want to make a poor showing," Jimmy said, with an effort- and Thomas laughed- and leaned up, kissing Jimmy's mouth. "Mm. _I'm_ not going to last," Thomas added- and Jimmy opened his eyes, looking down at Thomas with fascination.

"That's better," Thomas said, easing back onto the bed. "Now come here-"

"This is alright, then?" Jimmy asked- and he moved against Thomas's cock, staring at him with fixed intensity. There was color on Jimmy's face- and his hair fell between them, a strand of it rubbing against Thomas's nose. Each sensation was too intense for Thomas- and he put his palms to Jimmy's back, pressing them together, making friction, making Jimmy's expression contort and his voice come out garbled-

"Yes- perfect," Thomas said- and Jimmy shivered. "G-god please Thomas _oh_ christ- I- please yes- _nnn_- yes-" Jimmy said- his eyelids were closed, again- but they fluttered open as Thomas watched- and then Jimmy gave up trying to line up their erections, and moved against Thomas with stuttering motions. "Shite-" Jimmy said- and he rolled his hips again, grinding forcibly against Thomas- and once more- and he kissed Thomas's mouth. Thomas crushed their bodies together, holding Jimmy in place with his arms- and Jimmy groaned, as Thomas pushed against him.

"Oh god- I'm going to come- I can't even I-" Jimmy babbled, his words nearly lost in the air between them, and Thomas kissed him forcibly. "Yes," Thomas said. Jimmy shuddered, with his whole body, and pushed down so roughly against Thomas that it was almost painful- and then he stopped, with a terse little moan- and stilled atop Thomas, taking huge, painful-sounding breaths. "God," Jimmy said, quietly. "Oh. God."

"I'm only a man, b-but I appreciate the sentiment," Thomas said, raising an eyebrow- and Jimmy started to laugh, hoarsely- and then he balked, frowning. "I didn't forget you," Jimmy said- and he moved backwards- and cupped Thomas's hardon through the fabric of his trousers. "I can't believe this," Jimmy said, quietly.

"Ah- that- you don't have to-" Thomas murmured- but Jimmy cut him off, unbuttoning his trousers.

"An' miss havin'- havin' you at my mercy like this?" Jimmy said, looking him up and down. "Never."

Thomas felt exposed- he bit the inside of his lip and watched Jimmy run his hands over the length of his erection- and made a noise at the sensation of Jimmy's fingers on his shaft. _"Ah_, that's good," Thomas said, when Jimmy moved his fingers- and Jimmy looked into his eyes. "You're beautiful," Jimmy said, so solemnly that Thomas choked out a laugh-

"You _are_... you _are_ soppy... now-" Thomas ground out- and Jimmy kissed his mouth- and rubbed the head of his cock- and then Thomas was coming with a groan. He held Jimmy to himself, tightly, as he shivered through the aftershocks- and kissed the side of Jimmy's face, again and again.

"Jimmy," Thomas whispered- he meant to say every loving thing he could think of, and more- he meant to be quite sure that Jimmy was _all right_- and Jimmy leaned against him, at Thomas's intonation. Jimmy was still shaking- but he layed his cheek to Thomas's chest- and took a long and steadying breath through his nose.

"Look at that," Jimmy whispered, into the room. "I got my jacket right over the bedpost. I weren't even trying."

"What skill," Thomas said- and Jimmy brushed his lips along Thomas's chest. "I know what I want to do now," Jimmy said, tiredly.

"What's that?" Thomas asked, stroking Jimmy's hair.

"Mmm. Have a cigarette," Jimmy said. "Do _that_ again. Spend the rest of our lives with one another. Run away together. Break all the laws. Except the first one."

"No violations of Rule Number One, check," Thomas said.

"No, never," Jimmy said. "Not ever. I love you, Thomas. Many happy returns."

"I love you, Jimmy." Thomas said, feeling the knot in his chest ease by another increment. _It must be the weight of Jimmy's head over my heart,_ Thomas thought, sleepily.

"There's one more thing I want to do," Jimmy said.

"Anything," Thomas answered, with a smile. Outside the rain had begun in earnest, and Thomas was thankful that he wasn't in it.

"I want you to see that damned Lon Chaney picture," Jimmy said- and Thomas groaned. The house groaned, too, in the windy pitch of the night- and Jimmy kissed Thomas, again- and laid back with him across the bed. In truest love and deepest friendship both, they were the architects of their own universe. It was not built on rules- or laws- or governed by anything but the agreement of their souls. And yet it was the finest universe, Thomas thought, in all the world.


End file.
